Cowboy to the Rescue

“What, is she yours?”

Ryan stopped walking and faced his brother. “She’s not anyone’s. Geez, dude, she just got here. You letting Mom’s matchmaking get to you?”

“This has nothing to do with Mom and everything to do with that gorgeous new cook. You did notice her being pretty, right?”

Ryan started walking again. “I’m not blind.”

Simon stopped at the back of his truck. “Are you interested in her?”

Yes, you fool.

“You know me, would rather be on my own.” Ryan met Simon’s gaze, well-practiced at not showing what he was really feeling.

And what was that? Anger? Frustration? Jealousy? How could he be jealous when he’d known Brooke less than a day? Maybe it was anger that he no longer considered himself fit for a romantic relationship, nothing more than a casual date, anyway.

Simon seemed to accept his assertion at face value. “So, think she’d go out with me?”

“Not if she’s smart.”

Simon laughed. “You’re no help at all. Man, I wish I had a sister.”

And Ryan wished his mom had hired a safe woman, one old enough to be his grandmother.

We don’t all get what we wish for, do we?

“Want a ride?” Simon asked.

“What is it with people thinking I can’t walk two feet?” Ryan muttered.

“What?”

“No, I’m good.” Before he managed to make a complete idiot of himself, he headed toward home.

But when he got there and undressed, sleep remained elusive. Despite a long day in the shop, he stared at the ceiling as awake as he’d been at noon. Might as well get some more work done. He put his clothes back on and trudged out to the shop. He consulted his list of orders but didn’t feel inspired to work on any of them.

He sank onto the wooden stool next to his large workbench. He reached for the one thing that got him through nights when sleep refused to pay a call. The block of wood revealed only the hint of an angel’s outline. He closed his eyes and mentally scanned the shelf of angels that sat in his bedroom, remembering their details, each one different. When he opened his eyes and ran his fingertips over the surface of the wood, he fixed an image in his mind and started to carve, chipping away to find the angel buried inside the wood.

An hour passed with the chip and scrape of his carving tools against wood the only sound. He lifted the new figure toward his lips and blew away the shavings. An angel stared up at him—an angel with big doe eyes.

Chapter Three

Someone had painted her eyes shut. Or glued the lids together, because they refused to obey her brain’s command to lift. Somewhere in her memory lay a reason why she needed to open her eyes, to move, to wake up.

Brooke sat up so quickly the resulting head rush made her blink and press the base of her palm against her temple. Once her vision cleared, pieces of memory switched her unfamiliar surroundings into familiar. She was in Texas, the Vista Hills Guest Ranch, at her new job.

Her job! She looked out the window, at the strong sunlight pouring into the bedroom. She leapt from the bed and raced to her suitcase for clean clothes. No time to shower. As she stripped off the previous day’s clothes, she searched the kitchen cabinets for a glass then rinsed her mouth. She paused in putting on a fresh blouse to search her purse for a stick of gum and popped it into her mouth.

Her hairbrush, along with the toothbrush and toothpaste, was back at the Rochester, so she finger-combed her hair as she raced for the door.

Please, don’t let me have lost this job before I’ve even really started.

She yanked the door open then yelped when she almost crashed into Ryan. Instinct made her lift her hands, and they made contact with his chest in the same moment he grasped her upper arms.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I’m late,” she said as she tried to catch her breath. She stepped back, breaking the contact between them. “I can’t believe I’m late on my first day. I’m never late.”

When she skirted Ryan and ran down the steps toward her car, he kept pace with her.

“It’s okay,” he said. “Mom figured you’d need today to rest and get settled.”

“But we made plans last night for me to cook breakfast for the guests this morning.”

“She took care of it.”

Brooke still didn’t pause as she rounded the back of her car. Ryan slipped into the passenger seat as he had the night before. Why was he here?

“You can slow down,” he said as she started the car.

“I can’t lose this job.” She hadn’t meant for her desperation to go verbal, but her brain wasn’t firing on all cylinders.

“Mom isn’t going to fire you.”

“You don’t know that. Being late on the first day doesn’t look good.”

“I do know because she’s the one who sent me out here to leave you a note saying it was fine if you wanted to start tomorrow.” He held up a folded piece of paper.

So he hadn’t appeared on her doorstep on his own.

Good. If he wasn’t interested in her, that would make interacting with him way easier than with Simon, who’d kept up a constant barrage of flirting the night before. Of course, neither brother was her chief concern at the moment. She raced down the dirt road, leaving a whirl of dust in her car’s wake.

“You might want to—” Ryan didn’t get the rest of his sentence out before she hit a pothole so hard her teeth slammed together.

“Sorry,” she said as she spared a glance for Ryan.

“That’s okay. I like whiplash.”

Horrified, she slowed to a near stop. “Did I hurt you?”

“Here’s a tip. We tend to joke a good amount, so you’ll want to learn to tell when we’re teasing.”

“So, you’re okay?”

He leaned against the door. “Yes.”

Brooke returned her attention to the road then drove the rest of the way to the main house and parked. She didn’t even look at Ryan as she bolted from the car, simply tossing a “‘Bye” over her shoulder. If he responded, she didn’t stick around to hear.

When she hurried into the kitchen, she found Merline putting away dishes.

“Good morning,” Merline said in a cheery voice. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you. I’m so sorry I overslept. It’ll never happen again.” She stepped forward to take over putting the dishes in the cabinets.

Merline placed her hand atop Brooke’s. “It’s okay. Didn’t you get the note I sent?”

“Ryan told me about it, but you and I made arrangements last night, ones I’ve already failed to fulfill.” Her mother had taught her at a young age the importance of fulfilling one’s responsibilities, so by being late she felt as if she were failing not only Merline but her mother as well.

Merline squeezed Brooke’s hand. “Listen to me. Everything is fine. Your job is secure unless you suddenly poison all the guests. That would certainly be bad for business. I saw how exhausted you were last night and should have told you then to take today off.”

“Really, I’m ready to work.”

Merline smiled. “Of that I have no doubt.” With a final squeeze, Merline returned to her task. “If it’ll make you feel better, you can make lunch for the guests. They’ll be back from a wildflower tour then.”

“Thank you.”

They worked side by side the rest of the morning, preparing lunch for the twenty guests. Brooke’s heart twinged because the situation reminded her so much of days spent in the kitchen with her mother. The two women looked nothing alike. Merline had a silver bob and remarkably smooth skin for a woman her age. Brooke’s mom had looked more like an older version of Susan Sarandon, but with a tougher life. Despite the differences, Merline’s kindness started to fill the hole left by Brooke’s mom’s death.

“You seem to lose yourself when you’re cooking,” Merline said as Brooke slid two cherry pies from the oven.

“I’m sorry. Did I miss something?” She could hear her mother’s voice, commenting on Brooke’s constant daydreaming. Back then, she couldn’t wait to leave home, see something new, be someone important. Now, she’d give anything to be able to step into her mother’s West Virginia kitchen and feel her comforting arms around her.

“No. I was just watching the look you get when you’re cooking, like you’re in another world.”

Brooke sat the pies on the island to cool. “There is something about it that takes me away.”

“That’s how I feel when I’m painting.”

“You’re an artist?”

“Evidently.” Merline laughed. “It’s a recent realization. We’re beginning to be overrun with creative types around here. I’m painting. Grace does interior design. Ryan’s furniture.”

Brooke nearly looked up at Ryan’s name but caught herself in time. She’d picked up on just how much Merline had talked about her sons throughout the morning, particularly the two unmarried ones. She wondered if Nathan’s recent wedding had Merline on the hunt for wives for Simon and Ryan. Brooke swallowed, wondering if she’d ever be able to trust a man enough again to be willing to get married. After all, she’d thought Chris was going to be that man.

How wrong she’d been.

If there was anything in her life to be grateful for, it was the fact that Chris had shown his true colors, the man he was behind the mask of his public persona, before she’d had the misfortune of marrying him.

Thankfully, the guests returned, and talk of available Teague sons was replaced with feeding hungry tourists. As she served food and made small talk, she relaxed even more. It felt a little like her old job, making convention guests happy. Only now she accomplished the task by preparing chicken salad and cherry pie rather than consulting with chefs on the fare for special events and hotel guests on the perfect meeting space.

She insisted on doing all the cleanup while Merline retreated to her home office to work. Once Brooke was finished and had planned for dinner, she spread out the local classifieds on the dining room table.

She skipped over the sections that held no interest before locating the For Rent listings. With red pen ready to circle possibilities, she started reading. As it turned out, she didn’t need the pen. What few availabilities she found came with pricey rental rates attached, no doubt a result of Blue Falls being a popular tourist destination.

Brooke closed the paper, already planning to seek information about neighboring communities. How far would she have to go to find something more within her budget? She feared she’d encounter the same problem throughout the Hill Country.

“Find anything?” Merline pointed at the newspaper as she walked into the dining room.

“Not yet. But I’ll get a room in town until I do.” And try not to cringe at the price of the temporary space to lay her head at night.

“Don’t be silly. I was thinking, why don’t you live permanently in the bunkhouse? It’s just sitting out there. You could fix it up however you like.”

The convenience beckoned Brooke. Plus, she liked the idea of not having to venture forth from the ranch more than necessary. She had to believe that the longer she was gone, the less Chris would look for her. Eventually, he’d stop. At least that’s what she told herself.

“Only if I pay rent.”

“I think we can work something out. Now, I’m running into town for a while. Do we need anything?”

Brooke shook her head. “I’m going to do some meal planning this afternoon and may shop after that.”

“Sounds good. See you at dinner.”

Brooke decided to use the sliver of free time she had to go check out of the Rochester. But when she walked outside, she noticed the right rear tire on her car was flat.

She sighed, imagining a day when everything would go perfectly—none of this one step forward, two steps back stuff. She straightened and took a deep breath. No focusing on the negative. She had a job and a place to stay. Compared to only a few short weeks ago, today was absolutely peachy.

Telling herself that things could be so much worse, she opened the trunk and started pulling out boxes and bags filled with pieces of her life. Winter clothes, books, childhood mementoes. By the time she reached the spare tire, sweat was rolling down her back and stinging her eyes.

“Come on, damn you,” she said as she tugged the tire out of the trunk. When it finally came free, she stumbled and nearly fell on her butt. The tire slipped from her slick fingers and landed with a thunk. She eyed the tire then mashed it with her foot. Also flat.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She kicked the useless ring of rubber.

“Careful. It might kick back.”

Brooke wiped the sweat from her eyes so she could see who was speaking. Nathan stood a few feet away.

“Sorry I didn’t see you sooner or I would have come out to help,” he said.

“It’s okay.”

“Looks like you’re in need of some tire patching.”

“That or I just shoot the car and put it out of its misery.”

Nathan smiled. “Perhaps a bit drastic. We’ve got a friend with a garage in town. He can fix the tires in no time. Dad and I can’t get away right now. Have to give some riding lessons. But Ryan can probably run you into town.”

“I don’t want to inconvenience anyone.”

“He won’t mind.” Nathan pointed down the driveway. “Hang a left at that mailbox. Ryan’s place is back there.”

So he lived on the property, too. She’d wondered since he tended to pop up often, but she hadn’t wanted to cause speculation by asking.

“Okay, thanks.”

Nathan tapped the front edge of his hat. “Glad to help.”

After Nathan returned to the barn, she shoved her belongings back in the trunk before heading for Ryan’s.

No matter how much she told herself she couldn’t be interested in Ryan Teague, part of her wasn’t having it. In fact, denying the attraction seemed only to make it stronger. Her nervousness grew with each step down the driveway. When she reached Ryan’s mailbox, she stopped and stared up the hill in front of her. Somewhere beyond that hill was a good-looking man who did funny things to her pulse without even trying.

She shook her extremities like a runner trying to rid herself of tension before a race. Maybe the key to getting past this initial attraction was to just acknowledge it—but only to herself. Okay, so Ryan was totally drool-worthy, and he seemed like a nice guy. Based on appearances alone, he was the kind of guy dreams were made of.

But dreams sometimes turned into nightmares.

Stop it!

Brooke took in a slow, cedar-scented breath. No more thinking about the past. From this moment on, she was Miss Looking Forward, at whatever the future might bring. As she started up the hill, her steps fell lighter against the gravel. Hey, she liked this new positive attitude. She felt as if she was shedding anxiety on the road behind her. It could stay there and be ground down even further on her way out. Maybe she’d give it a swift kick for good measure.

At the top of the hill, she spotted Ryan’s home—

a small cabin with what looked like an outdoor woodshop at one end. She wondered what kind of furniture he made. Curiosity as much as necessity drove her forward.

She scanned the outside work area as she approached. Tools and wood shavings lay scattered across a tall workbench. Freshly cut pine and a hint of past fires filled the air. She stepped into the shade provided by the shop’s roof. That’s when she heard cursing from inside the house. She edged closer to the open door.

“Ryan?”

He jerked at the sound of her voice, turning enough that she was able to see the blood on the hand he held under a stream of water flowing from the kitchen faucet.

She rushed toward him. “Oh, Ryan, what did you do?”

“Knife slipped.” His words came out slowly, and now that she was closer she could see how pale he looked.

Brooke took hold of his arm and gently guided his hand back under the water. He closed his eyes and shook as his blood began to mix with the water flowing down the drain. She had to distract him so he wouldn’t pass out.

“Where are your clean hand towels?”

After a moment’s hesitation, he opened his eyes a fraction. “Drawer in front of you.”

She retrieved a mostly white towel and set it on the counter next to the sink. “So, how’d you manage this feat of brilliance?”

“Unparalleled talent?”

She laughed. If he could joke, maybe he wouldn’t collapse in the middle of the floor. “I’ve heard of putting blood, sweat and tears into your work, but this seems a tad excessive.”

When she squeezed some soap into her hand and proceeded to wash the wound on his left palm, she noticed he gripped the edge of the sink tighter with his other hand.

“We’re almost done.” She rinsed the soap away then shut off the water. Careful not to hurt him more than necessary, she pressed the towel against the wound and lifted his hand level with his shoulders. With her other hand pressed against his back, she guided him toward a comfy-looking chair facing his TV.

“I’m fine,” he said just as he reached for the back of the chair to steady himself.

“Yes, I can see that.”

“That sounded sarcastic.”

“Really?” She smiled when he looked at her. “I had no idea. Now, how about you sit before you fall?”

He didn’t argue. Once he was seated and holding the towel against his cut, she returned to the kitchen and grabbed a glass from the dish drainer. As she filled it with water, she tried to get her racing pulse under control. She was here just to help him, not to think about the texture of his work-roughened hands or the hard heat of his back. Not how pretty his eyes were up close. Not how easy she found it to be with him, especially in the past few minutes when parts of her true personality had shown themselves.

Get a grip.

She took the glass of cold water back to Ryan. “Here.” She extended the glass as she sat on the end of the coffee table in front of him. When he reached for the glass, she resumed pressing the towel against his palm. “I think you need a few stitches.”

Ryan shook his head. “It’ll be okay.”

“This part of one of those tough-guy routines?”

“No. Just don’t like hospitals.”

“You and most of the rest of the population.”

“Really, no need for stitches. I’ve had worse.”

Something about the way he said it, low and far away like the previous wounds were as much emotional as physical, kept her from insisting he go to the hospital. After all, she couldn’t force him.

“Okay, then, where are your first-aid supplies?”

He met her eyes and she got the feeling that he changed whatever he’d been about to say. “Under the bathroom sink.”

As she walked farther into his house, she couldn’t help the feeling that she was also stepping deeper into his life.

Ryan’s bathroom was classic bachelor. Single towel hanging over the shower rod. Shaving cream, razor, hairbrush and a half-used bar of soap on the sink. No frills. Even with so little to see, it felt strangely intimate to be standing in the midst of it. Her gaze drifted toward the shower and her imagination started forming a picture of Ryan below an entirely different flow of water. She jerked her attention back to the sink and knelt to retrieve the first aid supplies.

When she stood, Brooke eyed her reflection in the mirror. She hadn’t even thought before running into Ryan’s house to help him. Not that she could have left him alone and injured, but it had felt oddly natural. Maybe they were just in the early stages of an easy friendship. That certainly would be nice. New life, new friends. As long as she didn’t get too close.

“You find everything?” Ryan called out.

“Yeah.” She returned to the living room.

“I’ve stopped bleeding like a stuck pig,” he said.

“Yay, progress.” Brooke resumed her spot on the end of the coffee table. “Looks like your color’s coming back, too. You were pulling a Casper a few minutes ago.”

“Can’t say I’m a fan of the sight of blood.” There it was again, an echo of meaning beyond the actual words.

She took his hand in hers, ignoring the zing of unwise awareness, and removed the bloodstained towel. “Then I suggest not stabbing yourself.”

When he smiled, she smiled back. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said.

She cleaned the wound, washing away the last remnants of blood, then applied antibacterial cream and a gauze bandage.

“She cooks, she plays a mean game of Scrabble and makes a pretty fair nurse.”

“A necessity when your sister is the clumsiest person on the planet.” Brooke wasn’t sure why she’d said that, but Holly’s various mishaps had been what sprang into her mind. She hadn’t revealed too much, and if she kept too private that might invite as many unwanted questions as being too open. The trick was finding the right balance between saying enough but not too much.

Mentioning Holly brought on a wave of homesickness—not for her condo in Arlington but for the mountains of West Virginia and her older sister, her only remaining family.

“You all right?” Ryan asked.

“Yeah.” Brooke realized she was still holding Ryan’s hand so she released it and scooted back on the table. “How does your hand feel?”

“Like some idiot stabbed it with a carving knife.”

“Hey, accidents happen.”

He glanced out the door toward his shop. “But never at a good time.”

“Is there ever a good time to stab yourself?”

He lifted his good hand from the arm of the chair then let it drop. “You have a point.”

“Is there anything I can help you with?”

“You a wood carver by chance?”

“Nope, sorry.” She stood and walked toward the door. “Anything else on your to-do list?”

“I have a table and chairs ready to deliver. Maybe I can get Simon or Nathan to help.”

“Or me.” She lifted her hands, holding the palms out, and wiggled her fingers. “See, two good hands.”

“You looking for a second job?”

“How much you paying?”

He raised an eyebrow. “How much do you charge?”

She crossed her arms, hugging herself against a flicker of innuendo she thought she might be imagining. She leaned against the doorframe. “Actually, I just need a ride into town. You might be the idiot who stabbed himself, but I’m the idiot who barreled into that pothole this morning.”

“And you have a flat.”

“Two.”

“Talk about going overboard.”

Laughter bubbled up in Brooke. “What can I say? I’m an overachiever.”

Ryan rose from the chair, steady on his feet this time. In the small space, he appeared taller, broader. Had she just made an offer that would have her spending more time with him instead of less? Had she spent too much time in the sun while digging out that useless spare tire?

Or had the feel of Ryan’s hand in her own caused her attraction to overrule her common sense?

Of the two idiots in the room, she was definitely the bigger.

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